


Blackgate Dates

by Paranormal_Shitness



Series: On Jason And Quality Time [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: 2000s nostalgia, Bad Catholicism, Batman cameos as a fetish, Character Study with an Unsatisfactory Ending, Dom! Jason, Findom, M/M, Prison Rules are a bitch, Sex Worker! Jason, abusive work relationships, author is a pimp this fic is a vent against shitty Johns not all Johns are this shitty, dirty talk about bad BDSM dynamics involving children, fantasies about facial mutilation, innerpersonal conflict with a side of mediumcore porn, invincible hooker trope, pre 52, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:32:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranormal_Shitness/pseuds/Paranormal_Shitness
Summary: Black Mask still has a mad on for The Red Hood a year after the events of Under The Red Hood. When rumors about the guy ending up under lock and key permeate Blackgate, Roman does what any good villain would. Plots to kill him and gets thwarted by big dick sucking lips.





	1. Business

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I reread Under The Red Hood I’m dumb struck by just how Horny Black Mask is to get fin dommed into the gutter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick character sheet for another thing I’m working on. Thought I’d post it here cause I deleted my tumblr a while ago.
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Roman’s been in keeping at Blackgate a year and six months when the rumors start that the Red Hood’s been released into the populace. 

It takes him about three minutes and two greased palms to buy his way into the shrink’s records through the guy on secretarial duty. By the time the chatter is properly rounding the yard and the new meat is being seen in by the guards, Roman has the copied file sitting pretty on his bunk.

He’s just surprised when he takes a look at the kid’s picture. He’s alone, cell mate playing cards upstairs, but the double take he does is still obvious enough he feels a bit embarrassed. Of course when he looks the picture matches the physical description.

John Doe:  
5’9”  
183 lbs  
Black Hair  
Blue Eyes  
Caucasian  
Age 19 - 25

He’s a lot younger than Roman ever expected. A lot younger and a lot- Well he doesn’t look like that dummy Roman killed in that dive bar last year that’s for sure. He’s got this kind of grunge rock refinement. Like a real looker after a heroin binge. Big, thick lashed, hollow eyes and-

Dick sucking lips.

So maybe looking over the file takes a little longer than he expected because he takes a little time with all that information. Greases his own palm. Fantasizes about rearranging those pretty features. Before moving on to the important shit. 

The file has him labeled as John Doe and he’s got a record. 

Been to Arkham and done the whole tour with the local bad boys. Diagnosed with shit like Paranoid Schizophrenia, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Aspergers, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Social Phobia, Claustrophobia, Agoraphobia, Religious Delusions. The Works.

Known Aliases: The Red Hood. No known identity. Prints never on record before his Arkham visit and somehow erased out of the database thereafter so they had to be reentered and his feeble identity had to be verified by matching the shells of his ears to his original mug shots.

He’s like a government assassin only more suped up.

And they’re both in the same cell block with all the other half Arkham bastards in the place. 

Which is annoying because it’s so close to killing the little shit to be so far away from it. The kind of frustration that gets under his skin and makes it crawl. Just thinking about those last sucking breaths this fucking kid is gonna take.

He ends up spending his entire rec period in his bunk and by the time he can deal with himself again it’s lights out. So he has to wait to confront the little shit face to face. Has to dream about it all night.

It’s cigarette break the next morning. The kid is sucking down his second death stick like it’s goddamn candy when Roman steps out on the yard and does the whole routine of patting himself down.

‘Hey, can a guy bum a smoke?’ He asks, trying not to double take too hard at how much smaller “John Doe” is than the Red Hood. Seeing it in print hadn’t been enough to prepare him for the reality of it. It actually makes the kid seem petite. 

He’s not even acknowledged. Boy just holds out a pack of Marlboro Reds so Roman can slip one out of it. 

‘Got a lighter?’

The lighter he’s handed has a green label on it that says “BadDaddyPOV.com”. Roman doesn’t know how to file that information with everything else he knows about this Hood character so he elects to ignore it.

‘Hey, don’t I know you?’ He asks.

‘Probably seen my add in the paper or something,’ John Doe says, dropping his cigarette and squashing it out under his heel.

‘Add?’ Roman asks but he can already imagine it. The kid in a domino mask with his fat fucking lips all wet and open like the wonton slut he probably is.

John Doe finally looks at him, flashes him the cheekiest smile he’s ever seen and he’s honestly kind of gorgeous. Almost chick pretty. ‘The one where it says you can pay me to stomp on your balls.’

Roman can’t tell if he’s serious or not. He just blinks at the kid. ‘No that’s not where I recognize you from,’ he deadpans and takes another drag off his stolen Marlboro. 

‘I must just have that kind of face,’ the kid says with a shrug.

Which Roman isn’t in the mood for. ‘That’s not it,’ he says. 

The kid doesn’t even blink his big sexy bedroom eyes just stares him down.

‘No you’re not familiar, I know you. I know who you are. We’re acquainted,’ Roman explains. And he can see The Red Hood subtly solidify under the kid’s posture. His shoulder’s square almost imperceptibly as his feet dig in. It’s a pre-fighting stance. The kind someone who’s experienced uses to ground himself without giving away he’s ready to take a hit.

‘Oh we’re playing hard ball now?’ John Doe asks, eyes narrowing so his irises are darkened by the weight of his lashes.

There’s a quiet. The other men talking in low voices to each other in pockets across the yard ignore them. John Doe drags his teeth over his bottom lip and averts eye contact at his first chance. Not quite so impassive out of the helmet.

‘Been a long time, Hood,’ Roman says.

‘It has and this is so nice. I really have been meaning to catch up.’ John assures him, eyes up before casting away again. Roman remembers reading the word Aspergers in his file and thinking that was a gas but now he’s not sure. Kid is like a wild animal about eye contact. ‘Do you still get stiffies when randos extort you financially or have you gotten over me already?’

The emotional response, the anger, the ball busting fury, Roman feels looking at this sack of shit bastard, hunching around like he’s made of pure sex and nothing else, comes in a wave and washes out into a receding tide of extreme agitation. 

‘You think you’re hot shit, don’t you?’ He asks.

The Red Hood gives him a once over. Looks him up real long and then down, draws up to his full height and leans forward with a sneer. ‘I’ve got big names backing me with serious figures for even just a peek under my helmet, and you’re gonna try to neg me into letting you use me for torture porn? Go fuck yourself, Roman.’ He’s pretty when he’s angry. His face goes wild. Not like a normal human being but like a feral animal. Eyes wide and nostrils flared.

Then he walks away and Roman Sionis is left standing there in the middle of the yard with a very noticeable erection in his stupid orange pajamas.

So that didn’t work. Step one is back on the drawing board. If step one is his dick and the drawing board is his hand. He can’t stop thinking about putting his knuckles straight through the bridge of the kid’s nose. Just destroying his pretty face. 

If he keeps going like this he’s gonna ruin his fucking sheets. 

He takes a while to think things over. Sits with the implications of jokes about adds and boasts about backers. 

When he approaches the kid again it’s in the cafeteria. He slides himself in across the table, leans over the center as far as he can and asks in a low voice, ‘How much?’

The Red Hood considers him for a moment, then flashes another smile and says at standard speaking volume, ‘For you? I’d be willing to consider the low low price of twice my usual rate.’

‘And,’ Roman starts, voice still pitched low, ‘what’s your usual rate?’

John Doe runs those pretty teeth over his bottom lip again. ‘Way out of your paygrade,’ he says confidently. And then busies himself demurely with a bite of pudding. 

Roman’s starting to get annoyed again. He takes a deep breath and blows it hard out his nose. The men around them are all deep in their own conversations but that doesn’t save him from the mortification of how public this all has to be.

‘What kind of figures are we talking?’ Roman asks, voice finally at normal talking volume. 

‘What sort of service retention?’ The Red Hood retorts.

‘Let’s start with a night. Just one.’

John Doe’s eyes roll up to consider the ceiling as he thinks. Roman kind of loves this, seeing him bare faced with all his emotions naked on the surface. It’s gotten him nowhere in dealing with the kid but it’s still quite a show to watch. Then the kid puffs his bottom lip out and blows air up at his bangs so they flutter on his forehead.

‘Oh I don’t know,’ he says. ‘50k.’

‘Sheesh,’ Roman says, wiping his sweaty palms on his pant legs. 

‘Mm,’ John Doe agrees around another bite of pudding. Roman watches him pull the spoon out of his mouth real slow. ‘See the great thing about paying is you’d have the opportunity to do it again. Instead of having Batman hunt you down once he gets the specs on my autopsy.’

For a second Roman is tempted to ask about the relationship between them, but he stops himself because he already knows.

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘You’ve got a deal. But I’m gonna have to break it up.’

The kid shakes his head. Stubborn. ‘No. You pay upfront.’

‘Look, babe, I don’t wanna be having this discussion out in the open like this right now, negotiating like this, but there are some things a man just can’t do. And, seeing as I’m not personally blowing the Warden, popping 50k right into your commissary is out of the question,’ Roman explains.

The Red Hood goes quiet, eyes his tray almost suspiciously as he thinks. 

‘So if you want this money,’ Roman continues. ‘I’d suggest you allow me to send it to you in installations of $4,000 until I’m paid up.’

‘Fine,’ John Doe says, taping his spoon on the edge of his pudding cup. ‘Only thing is I still got questions,’ he drawls. ‘We’re in the goddamn clink, how’re you gonna manage to get a full date outta me? It’s not like they’ll let you set up conjugal visits to see a hooker.’

The guy next to Roman stops talking to his buddy and starts listening in. Roman can feel his temper boiling again. It’s starting to make his mind wander. All he wants to do, and Goddamn it is all he wants to do, is smash the kid’s face into unrecognizable oblivion. Cut his nose off, maybe, so he can swallow more dick.

He stares at the table for a long moment, stares at the food he definitely doesn’t want to eat right then. Then starts, ‘I will,’ pauses, throws a dirty look at the guy next to him. Some asshole who tried to blow up a bank three years ago or something. A nobody. ‘Think of something,’ he says.

‘Have it in there by the end of the day,’ Red Hood calls after him as he gets up and stalks away from the table, hands in his pockets to try and hide the bulge that seems to have taken up permanent residence in his pants.

He stops at the pay phones outside the cafeteria to call his financial adviser and move money around. Which takes about an hour and a half because of the fucking line. And then he spends another hour feeling like an idiot because he’s just paid for services he doesn’t even know that he can receive for about twenty more years.

So it’s back to greasing palms. 

This isn’t the kind of thing he wants that many people to know about. How he’s going out of his way to fuck The Red Hood. Who is very definitely a man. Even if he’s kind of a twink.

Which in hindsight, Roman should have expected this. He should have seen it coming because Batman has one type and it’s pretty little boys. 

Pretty little boys who grow up to be hookers apparently. Daddy issues. It made sense. It all made sense. 

But guards learn things anyway. And it’s prison so he has an excuse. At least he’s picking a pretty face. One that if you squinted could maybe make for a tall girl. People would probably be understanding if they did know. Not talk too much. 

So he pays off as many of the big men as he can to set up a series of dates. It’s not romantic or anything when you’re locked into locations like showers or libraries but Roman’s hoping he might be able to offer extras. Incentives that’ll let him punch the kid’s face up a little. 

And then he waits for their first little field trip. Until the night the guards pull him out of his cell, bring him to the showers and tell him, ‘Okay, you got twenty minutes.’

John Doe is already standing there, leaned up against one of the walls. ‘I know you can’t order GFE to your prison cell or anything but this feels like a cage match,’ he quips.

‘I’m sorry, did you wanna get cuddly and comfortable about it first? Are you one of those girls who can’t get wet otherwise?’

The Red Hood smirks. And Roman sees him move off the wall. He’s far from fast enough to be untraceable but he is too fast to be countered. Before he can do anything the kid’s up in his face.

‘You know how Batman fucks?’ He asks, voice low. They both know the guards are watching. They have no actual privacy.

‘No,’ Roman deadpans.

John lifts a hand up and runs a finger along the collar of his jumper. Again Roman’s thrown off guard when he suddenly changes his approach and yanks him down by it.

‘Well, you’re not so different,’ those pretty lips say against what’s left of the shell of his ear. ‘He likes the violence too. Gets off on it. Knowing he’s above other people like that- that he can do whatever he wants.’ The kid’s hand is trailing lower as they speak.

This is distinctly weird but somehow it’s working on him right now, the idea of slipping into some other man’s power trip.

‘Yeah?’ Roman asks.

‘Yeah nothing gets him harder than smashing in the faces of shit sacks like you,’ the kid promises him and it’s starting to hit home for Roman the reality that this is Robin. This kid was Robin four years ago before the little shit went missing. He knows everything. He’s Batman’s once upon a time house boy. His little tin soldier and Roman can pay him as little as 50k for something resembling that experience. A night as the Bat. Purchasable for 50k.

Gotta love the Free Market.

He kind of hopes the kid has a business card. He’s even on the mark with the facial fixation. Probably because Batman had files on that shit. Files he read just like Roman read his.

‘He punches out a few thugs until it gets his blood up and then the hunt really starts. You know what Bat’s eat?’ John asks him, voice breathier with every word, hand in his waistband now.

‘Bugs?’ Roman asks.

‘Birds. And they don’t need sonar to find a warm body. They can track it by smell.’

Roman nods. He’s got a distinct feeling of apprehension. He knows where this shit is going and maybe it’s a little weird.

The kid’s hand is down his pants reaching for him. He’s quick and efficient. Knows what he’s doing too well to be new at this racket. He’s every bit as high rent as he puts on.

‘When the Bat’s on your tail you gotta run,’ he says. ‘There’s nothing that will stop him from catching you short of his own death and I’ve even seen him stave that off just long enough to finish the job. He’s a man under that shit sure but that man is a biological machine. He comes and he comes hard. You feel him on your heels. Every way he can be quiet he knows to be thunder too . And when he catches you- because he will. He always catches you- He’s gonna cave your fucking face in. Hold you down and make you fucking take it.’

Roman cums thinking about doing that. Holding down that little kid in the green shorts he’d met when he first lost his damn nut. He’d been tiny then. Tiny and pretty and malleable. Then Roman reels, finds himself blinking as Robin’s modern counterpart shows him the mess splattered across his hand. 

‘Quick shot,’ the kid teases. 

Once again Roman doesn’t have the reflexes to dodge him and ends up with a load of cum smeared down his face.

‘Great,’ he deadpans to The Hood’s laughter. 

There’s a metallic squeal as the kid turns the tap on.

Next thing Roman knows he’s lost his shirt and been kicked under the spray. The cold takes his meat from rapidly softening to noodle-esque in texture as he splutters. John Doe’s Body makes impact with him moments after. He fucks like he says his mentor does. Like it’s a fight. Like he’s trying to get you off balance and keep you there.

Roman braces for a fist in the face but it doesn’t come. Instead the weight against him shifts down. When he opens his eyes the kid’s on his knees sucking his now very flaccid cock. 

By his guess they’ve been in there about ten minutes which means they’re nearing the end of their time but obviously this kid is a showman and you get what you pay for. He’s gonna milk it. Reach up right behind the balls and press for all it’s worth like he’s in it for the love of the fucking game. 

50 fucking K.

Roman tries to reach out and thread his fingers into the kid’s hair but his hands get slapped away. Part of him is pissed he’s getting treated like a bitch by a fucking hooker but he’s letting it happen. He’s letting it happen and it sort of rocks. This is why you hire professionals. Because they know their fucking shit.

He manages to cum off a second time without even getting it back up. And when he does the kid spits his load in his face, then smiles like they’re old friends.

‘See you, Romeo,’ he chirps.

And just leaves him standing there, under the spray, dazed to hell, with probably about ten new fetishes. 

Without Roman ever even getting a peek of extra skin.


	2. Financial Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to pump this bitch out fast and nasty so expect errors. I’ll reread an re-edit once it’s all up but it’s just bare bones typed and edited once right now as is. Feel free to point out mistakes in spelling or syntax and please tell me if there are any sentences that just suddenly stop or seem to be missing words lmao

Time passes. They don’t have another date set for a week but that doesn’t stop him from keeping eyes on the kid.

Hood doesn’t make friends. Not that Roman’s surprised by this. He doubts the kid would know what to do with them even if he had made them somehow. When he’d taken the False Facers down last year it had looked like he was solo the whole time which means two things. One: that his file is right about him being a control freak and Two: he still doesn’t understand the reality of how crime runs.

Or that’s what Roman thinks until the kid wanders into his little group of friends and sets up shop one day. 

Apparently he cozies in with some contraband while Roman is off busy schmoozing with brass. And of course the ingrates take it.

‘Hey, Romeo,’ he says, mock happy, leaning back on his chair so it tips off the front legs as Roman comes in and stops to stare at the bullshit he’s witnessing. 

Happenings in the real world can be entirely dictated by the alliances made on trips behind bars. If you do it right these stupid momentary friendships can carry you anywhere. Roman knows this. Two Face left him alone on the outs because he’d stolen the guy pies from the cafeteria on the ins. A little goes a long way in the clink.

And now here he is, this little asshole. John Doe- if that even isn’t his real name. 

‘Well, John Doe,’ Roman says, voice flat. ‘I see you’ve met John Doe.’

‘Yeah,’ Hood says. ‘Copperhead right?’

‘Ooh, I hate when people do that,’ Copperhead gripes. 

‘But you like the moonshine,’ Roman retorts. ‘What’s all this shit anyway?’

The kid gives him a cheeky grin, arms laced behind his head. ‘I’m being friendly.’

Roman can feel the back of his skull splitting open to make way for his horrifying transformation into a raging man beast, but as he’s got practice with that particular angry emotion, he ignores it. Instead of kicking the table over, he sits down.

‘So,’ he says, ‘back for another game.’

‘Oh come on, stop razzing the kid,’ Julian gripes.

Roman throws him a harsh look. ‘This is my table, I’ll razz who I like. And right now I’m liking bird meat over here for the daily roast.’

‘Calm down, big man, I come in peace,’ Hood insists. ‘I brought goodies and everything. I’m being legit.’

‘Son, there’s not a legit hair on your scrawny, little-girl body,’ Roman growls.

And then he sees the smirk on the kid’s face triple in size and he can see the inevitability of the train wreck he’s just set up. Hood takes a breath, mouth open to speak but Roman cuts him off.

‘Alright,’ he says, voice placating and infinitely calm as if this were a day on which everything was going right and he was running his cool. ‘That was a bit harsh. No need to get testy. After all this is just a meeting of friends. A bit of light banter and entertainment to serve as recreation on this fine day.’

Red nods his pretty little head, and adds a very stoic, ‘As it is the Lord’s Day, amen.’

Once again Roman can’t tell if he’s joking. ‘It’s Wednesday,’ he corrects.

Hood nods again and an odd silence falls on the table. All the conversation and small personal activity stops as everyone turns to regard him, playing with his own nails in his lap. Once again Roman finds himself thinking back to that file. Arkham doctors were the kind of broken clock that was still right twice a day. The problem was always figuring out when. And with this kid there was no telling when they would have been right if he wasn’t also giving everyone the runaround. And no one could ever tell when he was or wasn’t.

‘So, did you,’ Roman starts, looking around the table and then back to little Red Riding Hood, ‘have any business?’

‘Oh,’ Hood says. ‘Just checking up.’

Roman drums his fingers on the table. ‘Oooh-Kay.’

It’s a normal kind of day. John, the original, is drawing some electric blue print. Julian has a magazine for Christmas collectibles open on his arm. And Dury is vying for The Red Hood’s attention because he wants to cozzy up to a real merc. Someone with connections. 

Their little group has a new face. At least everyone else seems happy about it. 

‘Why are you torturing me like this?’ Roman asks when he catches John Doe in the bathroom the next day. 

The kid just shrugs and finishes his business. 

When the date comes, the same group of guards takes them both down to the library. The kid’s sitting on one of the tables with a Nancy Drew novel open on his knee as Roman walks in. 

‘I’m really touched you took my criticisms to heart last time we saw each other, Romeo,’ he says, not bothering to look up from the book. ‘This is a lot more romantic. There’s even that tight spun carpet you usually find in grade school class rooms. Might give me rug burn but at least I’ll be warm and cushy.’

‘Well what can I say?’ Roman deadpans. ‘I’m the kinda guy who likes to offer a little extra to make a pretty girl feel right at home.’

‘I have to admit, Romulus, my prince,’ Hood deadpans, putting the book down. ‘You’ve got me on the whole forced feminization thing but I don’t think you know how to do it right, do you want me to give you the crash course Nightwing gave me?’

‘Nightwing‘s that other one right?’ Roman asks.

Doe only dignifies him with a shrug but he nods anyway. ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Fucked up family dynamics.’

‘We’re burning time, Romeo. You wanna head shrink my home life or you want what you paid for?’

‘Full anal this time,’ Roman presses.

‘No go,’ Hood says with a sigh and a headshake. ‘I don’t give hole to idiots that call themselves “Daddy”.’

‘Listen here, you little shit,’ Roman says quickly, fighting to keep his voice from rising. ‘You owe me some fucking respect right now. I am putting $4,000 in your account every week for these little twenty minute shows and if I say I want ass I should get some.’

The kid’s eyebrows dance with his hairline for a split second before falling again. ‘Make me.’

Roman snarls as he lunges up onto the table. His hands claw out in front of him, trying to catch the kid’s neck but he misses because he’s just not fast enough. There’s a great wooden scraping sound as the table tips, knocking into the chairs, and sends them flying onto the shitty carpet.

John Doe is up before Roman can even begin to catch his bearings. Roman doesn’t remember this. He didn’t remember it last time and he doesn’t now, the kid being so fucking fast. Must have been all those layers of body armor he was wearing. That’d slow a guy down. Now, in just his prison pjs, this little Doe is much quicker.

The kid lurches up over him, raises an elbow and drops. Roman braces for impact but what hits isn’t half of what he expects. Faster and lighter. 

The kid knows how to make up for new weakness though. Makes sense seeing as he grew up in hot pants. He’s all over Roman like a goddamned pit bull and Roman can’t get him off.

‘Oh you fight fucking dirty,’ Roman gripes as the kid flips him onto his stomach and digs a knee into the small of his back.

‘Yeah,’ John Doe tells him, breathily. ‘I fucking do.’

‘Your daddy never taught you better?’

There’s a beat of quiet and then Hood grabs one of his wrists, twists his arm up behind his back.

‘You want anal, Romeo?’ He asks.

‘Actually,’ Roman starts. ‘On second thought, I’m good. You win.’

‘No, no,’ John Doe insists. ‘I’d hate to disappoint a client.’

Roman grunts nervously into the carpet. This was not his idea of how they’d spend their time here. ‘Honestly with the discounts I’m getting. I always had the feeling this was more of a friendly arrangement,’ he tries.

Doe gives him a soft chuckle. ‘Did you?’

‘Yeah. Honestly. Especially seeing as how we hang out for rec now.’

‘Guess you got a point,’ the kid admits. 

Roman takes a steadying breath as the knee in his back lets up and the kid dismounts him but it takes a second for his balls to descend back out of his pelvis.

‘Don’t wanna get shit dick anyway,’ he hears as he rolls himself over onto his back again.

The ceiling is those cheap tiles with the holes in them. The ones that always have water stains.

‘You’re not gonna make this easy for me, are you?’ He asks.

Doe heaves another sigh before sliding into his lap. ‘No,’ he says staunchly, weight laying into his thighs and his forearms. ‘I wouldn’t be so pricey if it was easy.’

Roman holds very still. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to, or even allowed to, do. This is a guy who’s gotten him at basically every turn. Made him a fool in public opinion a million times. He hates to admit he respects the game. Respects the mastery of it.

For all he’d love to give the kid a taste of his own medicine, Roman kind of loves to watch him work. 

Hood hovers over him on his knees, so close but not quite touching. Hands spreading out on his chest. ‘You wanna touch me?’ He asks.

Roman eyes the kid’s legs, a cage around his waist, the hands poised for his throat. ‘You don’t bite, do you?’ he asks.

Doe smirks. ‘You know I do.’

It’s another dare but Roman’s always been a sucker for a stupid gamble. His fingers move in stops and starts, nervously cresting the kid’s knees before skating up onto his thighs. 

Little Red’s face shows no recognition of the contact. He stares down impassively, cocks his head as Roman reaches for his hips and smirks as he’s pulled down. It’s not the best response a guy could hope for but Roman’s a little busy experiencing his dick coming into contact with the cleft of a fat ass to focus on it.

‘That’s it?’ Hood asks.

‘Fuck you,’ Roman says. ‘Gonna tell me Batman’s a complete Rasputin? Unkillable and incredibly hung all at once.’

‘That’s about the number,’ Doe assures him. And then he rocks himself hard into Roman’s pelvis. Pushes down so that the underside of his dick is shoved flush between his nuts and stuck there.

It’s as uncomfortable as it is pleasurable. 

‘You little asshole,’ Roman gripes.

‘You wish,’ the kid tells him.

There’s a shush of fabric as the hands on Roman’s chest go down again, fucking up the hem of his shirt and tugging on his waistband.

‘Oh fuck,’ he manages.

Hood laughs at him again. The kid won’t hold still. It’s like being ridden by a perpetual motion machine with no holes. Which again is not at all what he was hoping for when he paid for this experience. He was hoping to punch Little Red in the face just a little bit, just once. Maybe put one of those Japanese nose hooks on him and fuck his throat a little, that was light right? Give him a couple black eyes and break teeth out too for good measure. Alright, admittedly that would be pushing it. It’s pretty obvious he’s not gonna be allowed to do any legitimate damage in this arrangement.

He’s annoyed by the response when he reaches up further, sliding his hands up under the horrible, baggy, orange shirt, onto the cool skin of the kid’s waist. 

That stops everything. Hood goes a till as a viper. Perched on the edge of his dick, the bird regards him again. Which really does break the mood doesn’t it? Throws off even the crinoline veneer of enjoyment this all happens under.

‘Skin’s soft,’ Roman mutters dumbly. 

‘Thanks,’ Hood says. ‘Move your hands.’

The anger Roman feels as he listens to the command is much more distant than how he’s used to taking it. It’s tempered by shame, which is something he can’t remember feeling since he ruined Circe. Something he thought he’d killed with her. And weirdest of all, a slight feeling of gratitude that he’s only being verbally corrected for stepping out of line again.

His hands settle back on the fabric of Red’s pants, thumbs fitted into the crease between his hips and his thighs.

‘Good boy,’ Hood assures him. 

Roman wants to bite his nose off. 

Then the kid reaches down into his pants, and grabs his dick between his thumb and forefinger like the udder on a goddamn cow. Holds it so Roman doesn’t get nice soft palms to press on, but the grate of hair on the back of his hand. 

‘Come on,’ Roman gripes.

‘Doesn’t feel like this’ll take long,’ Doe hisses into his face. 

They’re close now. Pressed nearly chest to chest. Kid smells like cigarettes and coffee and that incense they burn in the chapel. And everywhere they press up against each other little blooms of warmth start, slow at first but spreading. 

If he can’t bite the kid’s nose off Roman would settle for kissing him but that clearly isn’t on offer. Instead the kid’s free arm laces up around his neck, and he holds him in a kind of horizontal hug so he can whisper horrible shit in his ear.

‘You wanna beat the shit out of me, huh?’

Roman’s hips twitch against the cage of the kid’s thighs.

‘You wanna hold me down and make me take it?’

He’s way too close to the edge, and he wants to be able to drag it out a little, but obviously this piece of shit isn’t about to let him have that.

‘You want me to call you “Daddy”?’

‘Holy shit,’ Roman stutters. And then it hits him. Weak and strangled and every bit as ruined as the kid wants it to be.

‘Aw look at you making a mess,’ Doe croons.

‘Fuck yourself,’ Roman spits.

It gets him another laugh. ‘Bet you’d like to watch that.’

The annoying thing is he would.

Cold air rushes up against his front as Doe peals himself away. There’s quiet in the library. Roman can see the guards ducking their heads in through the doors occasionally. And there’s the kid sneering at the spunk in his hand as he lounges on the hard floor. 

‘What are you playing at, buddying up with my associates?’ Roman asks as he watches Robin try to find a place to wipe his hand off. 

‘Honestly, Romeo,’ Hood starts. ‘I think I just enjoy reminding you that what’s yours is mine.’ The sentence is punctuated by the little shit reaching over and wiping the cum onto the front of Roman’s shirt.

‘Does anyone ever tell you you’re delightful?’ Roman asks.

The kid flashes him another cocky smile. ‘All the time.’

And then they’re dragged back out to go back to their cages.

Roman spends the rest of the night awake, staring at the concrete ceiling of his cell, thinking about it. Thinking maybe this is stupid and generally bad for his mental health. Not that he ever cared about that really just. He’s starting to feel kind of like a little bitch letting himself get tossed around like this. Not even letting. 

That’s putting himself off too easily. No, he’s paying for this junk. And a ridiculous amount of money.

Any amount of novelty that had made him think it was reasonable pricing after the first meeting had thoroughly worn off by the end of the second. He almost wants to just discontinue payment and pretend he’d never gotten wrapped up in this but then he has to see the kid every day. 

Doe’s made himself a part of Roman’s comfortable little group. Slid right between Killer Moth and Cat Man and called himself at home. There’s no getting rid of him without telling everyone everything and even then they might decide to side with the fun newcomer who seems to have endless amounts to offer. 

Best case scenario then would be that the Hood tries to whack him. Worst would be him blowing the whole thing open. And considering the kind of dirty wrestling style humiliation tactics this little ex-Robin seems so familiar with, that would probably be his first go to. A way to keep thing’s neat and avoid trouble with the guards. 

Fuck it, Roman thinks. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. He’s trapped in this bullshit and there is no way out.

Until three days later, the kid gets involved in a stabbing with a kiddie diddler and lands himself two months in solitary. Which leaves Roman plenty of time to consider his options.


	3. Chokee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight delay in my posting schedule because of the holidays.

‘I miss him,’ Julian says the next day.

‘Yeah well I don’t,’ Roman insists. 

‘But it’s not often there’s a pretty face around. He’s no cover girl but I’d make him out for a picturesque January,’ Julian explains.

‘Thought I was your January boy,’ Thomas jokes.

Julian sits up a little straighter and turns his head almost dreamily, like he’s suspended in water, to regard the man across the table. ‘Don’t take things so personally, Thomas. You know I prefer a more,’ he pauses, eyes darting away and back, ‘slender physique.’

Thomas laughs.

‘It’s weird knowing that considering you’re the biggest faggot at this table,’ John weighs in.

‘Well perhaps I might have been a woman in another life,’ Julian says loftily. ‘I don’t think that means anything about liking the company of the only interesting person at this table.’

John clicks his pen so that the blue nib pops out and draws another line on his schematic. ‘Might mean your panties get all wet for him.’

‘Honestly, what is it with you fucks?’ Roman asks, calling attention back to himself. ‘Suddenly there aren’t any women around so someone has to be relegated to the position?’

‘If that’s the case we oughta vote on who’s the girl,’ Dury suggests.

‘Well it isn’t me,’ Julian insists. ‘Physically, I’m nothing but a sentient marshmallow.’

‘I nominate Doe-face,’ Dury says quickly to a round of stifled laughter.

‘Not fair to throw him under the bus when he isn’t even here,’ Julian complains. 

More laughter. 

Then Thomas sits foreword rather seriously, and says, ‘No arguing what he did to that guy was ladylike, though.’

‘Miracle The fucker lived through it,’ John adds, raspy voice pitched low.

‘Heh,’ Roman says. ‘What’s more of a miracle is that the kid is there to do that to somebody after what I’ve heard Joker say about him.’

‘Fess up,’ Dury insists.

‘Well there’s a reason he was able to guess everyone’s super-sona on walking in,’ Roman explains. ‘Because he’s seen you all unmasked before. But Joker didn’t tell me that. What Joker did tell me is that four years ago, he caught a little bird. It was a nasty bird. Apparently it bit. Made for a bad pet in general. So Joker did what any responsible pet owner would. Beat it around the head and shoulders with a crowbar. Then strapped it to some TNT and blew it up to St Peter’s Gate.’

The table goes quiet as everyone digests his little story.

‘You’re trying out for Riddler’s Schlick right now, right?’ Dury asks.

Roman gives him a dry, ‘No, shut up.’

Thomas says, ‘I dig the whole bird motif thing-‘

‘Because you’re a fury,’ Dury interrupts.

‘But I don’t get what you’re trying to say,’ Thomas finishes.

‘Well,’ Julian says softly. ‘Joker’s only ever killed one kind of bird. A Robin. I remember him bragging about it. That must have been ‘06? December the 17th I believe. It was back quite a while.’

Dury gapes openly at Roman. ‘You’re telling me one of Batman’s Robins did that to a dude.’

‘Apparently has a history of it,’ Roman confirms. ‘Really hates freaks that fuck with kids. Cut off a whole bunch of my guy’s heads last year just for supplying a demand. That kid is like a fucking nightmare. He shows up, ruins your business, has you locked up, then gets himself sent to the same prison as you and acts all buddy buddy. I ain’t about it.’

‘No,’ John cuts in, pointing his pen in Roman’s face. ‘Rumor as I heard it was John Doe II was a hooker and you were paying him buku. I ain’t buying this Robin shit.’

‘Alright. Take it or leave it,’ Roman says. 

Another lull takes the conversation. This one more tense. Then Dury speaks.

‘So you’re telling me this guy is Robin AND The Red Hood?’

‘Yeah,’ Roman deadpans.

‘Man you are his bitch!’ Dury concludes. And the entire table erupts into frenzied conversation. 

Well this could be going better but it’s not and Roman has no one to blame but Little Red.

‘The Red Hood’s a hooker?’ Thomas asks.

John asks, ‘You’re fucking The Red Hood?’

And Julian asks, ‘You have to pay for that?’

While Dury says, ‘This is fantastic,’ all at roughly the same time.

‘Well,’ Roman gripes, ‘I fold.’ And he excuses himself from the table, taking his Sprite with him. 

Things don’t really get better after that. Roman’s actually starting to get what some people in the business might refer to as ‘a little bummed out’. It’s better these days for him to spend most of his time alone so he does but that means he basically never leaves his cell except to smoke and at meal times, or for the occasional coffee break.

He goes down to the library and checks out as many books as he can on historical warfare, hoping to find little details about torture methods but it’s a disappointing search. Really makes him wish people gave more of a shit in general about prison libraries.

Then, cause he’s an idiot, he goes down to the pay phones and calls his financial advisor. 

‘Hey, Shirl,’ he greats as she picks up the phone. ‘What does a guy have to do to fund the local prison library?’

She heaves a long suffering sigh, and starts sorting out the logistics for him. All told it takes her about ten minutes to track down the right information. 

‘Alright,’ she says as he slots more quarters into the phone and fends off a horde of angry glares from his fellow inmates. ‘So what’s with the sudden philanthropic urge?’

Roman considers the situation for a moment before deciding on honesty. ‘The reading material here just sucks, Shirley. Can’t find a single book on torture.’ Then he hangs up on her without saying goodbye.

He’s hoping some reading material will prove inspirational for his plans on what to do with the Hood when he gets back into gen pop, weak and disoriented from the isolation and lack of exercise.

Time passes. The library gets new books on all sorts of educational shit Roman turns out not to be interested like Commerce and Law or Ethics so he picks up one of the new catalogues they had delivered and orders some more immersive reading for his personal collection anyway. Waste of fucking money.

Roman’s always liked to waste his money. That’s what got him here in the first place really. Not the mutilating his fiancé’s face and trying to kill Batman thing so much as all the goddamn money he’d wasted. If he’d have kept the money and done the fuck Batman routine anyway he’d have ended up Hush and Batman would be actively working to keep him out of prison.

There’s so much time to think now. About Batman, and the Hood and everything really. How he’d gotten himself in the middle of this ‘To Daddy With Love’ bomb threat. How different Doe was than the Hood while still being so much the same.

The reality of it was they were the same breed of animal. Maybe that’s why ‘Roman had such an interest in those types these days. Because they were the same. Hiding under similar masks. And then he wonders again which masks Doe is still wearing even outside of the Hood.

He thinks about that shit all the time. Thinks about what Batman is like under all that leather daddy crap. Kid never talks about that. Probably never would. They’d have to be actual buddy batty for him to open up and say ‘Daddy was controlling’ because almost definitely that’s what he’d say.

God he’d look like an idiot crying his eyes out about Batman like that, Roman thinks. It’s kind of hot.

Day the kid gets out, his only warning is waking up in the middle of the night with his face burning fresh. Like Batman only just dragged him hot and ready out of the fire. He muscles through it. Ignores the emotional response. Rolls over and insists to himself he sleep.

And next thing he knows the kid is being released back into gen pop. They meet up on the yard like they had the first time and Roman is distinctly disappointed to see that he looks as fit and as stable as ever. 

‘Long time no see,’ Roman says in greeting.

‘Likewise,’ Hood tells him. ‘Can a guy bum a smoke?’

Roman offers his pack over. 

‘Black Russians. Nice,’ the kid says appreciatively.

‘They match the aesthetic,’ Roman shrugs.

‘Got a lighter?’

His lighter is also black. Hood flips it over his fingers before lighting up.

‘Whoof,’ he says as he exhales.

Roman just shakes his head and stares off across the yard. ‘So what’s it like being locked in the closet like that?’ He asks.

‘If I was you I’d ask myself that question before I put it to anyone else,’ Hood quips. There’s a beat of silence. They both chug half heartedly on their cigarettes. ‘It was pretty alright, actually. Batman visited me. Twice. Gave me a cellphone and everything. You know you only get one bar down there so the LTE is spotty as shit but it’s something to do.’

‘Is that what you’re using my money for? Your ridiculous data plan?’ Roman asks.

‘No, I’m on daddy’s plan,’ Hood tells him.

Roman has to stop and think on that one for a minute. He takes a drag off his cigarette and holds it, lets the smoke sear the back of his sinuses before it ekes out between his teeth. Batman has money. That’s not a huge logical leap but the knowledge has a weird feeling about it. ‘So, you kill people. Do all this shit. Fuck super villains and what-not for money. And Batman just lets you get away with it?’

Doe fixes him with another cheeky grin but it doesn’t really reach his eyes. ‘Prodigal son and all that.’

‘Jesus,’ Roman swears.

‘Yeah that’s about the number,’ Hood agrees.

Roman gives him a beat. Stares at him real long and good, still trying to gauge whether the kid ever isn’t joking. ‘What you mean you did the whole rising from the dead thing? You want me to believe that?’

Little Red pantomimes crucifixion like it’s a cute thing a child would do. 

And before he can stop himself, Roman says, ‘So, is this what they meant by “religious delusions” in your file?’

Doe regards him curiously over his smoking hand, mouth and chin obscured. Which actually is kind of cute. There’s a beat. Those eyes flash through a million different micro expressions, all unreadable to him. 

‘You peep my file, old man?’ Hood asks, winging his hand away from his mouth into an almost casually accusatory gesture. 

‘Not before you peeped mine,’ Roman retorts.

‘Fair.’

Another beat of quiet. They stare in opposite directions out over the yard at everyone enjoying their smokes. The general forced peace of prison life. The calm reality that even here, with these animals, there’s a general desire amongst the inmates to preserve order that had never been present in Arkham. 

‘You haven’t put funds into my account,’ Doe says then. 

‘You’ve been in the fucking chokee kid,’ Roman argues.

Little Red nods. ‘Well, I’m not fucking anyone else right now.’

‘Because you don’t have any other clients in this fucking prison,’ Roman says.

‘Because you’ve got me on retainer,’ Doe corrects.

Roman feels like the yard just turned sideways, pitching his stomach. ‘Because I what?’ He demands.

‘Yeah,’ Doe assures him. ‘You’re my valued customer.’

‘I never asked to have you on retainer,’ Roman insists. ‘All I ever wanted to ask for- Maybe!- was to give you a couple of black eyes!’

‘Meet me at the chapel in about 30 minutes,’ Hood instructs Him.

‘Do I get to punch your face?’ Roman asks as the kid puts the but of his cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and pockets the rest. 

‘You’ll see when you get there.’

And he fucking does. He does see. 

Thirty minutes later, Roman has his little styrofoam cup of coffee. Black, naturally. And he’s got, not the best feeling about this little meeting, but also not the worst. No matter what’s in store, the reality remains; Doe is hot. He knows what he’s doing and as, arguably on of the best super villains Roman has ever met, he always puts on a good show. 

Even if you end up being the punchline for every joke delivered in the performance.

The chapel’s empty when Roman gets there, being that it’s a goddamned Monday, but Hood is sitting in a pew halfway down the right side, lamplit by the sunlight falling through the stained glass window at the back. Images of St Peter and the Holy Mary swim over his bowed head, his clasped hands. 

‘Whatchya praying about?’ Roman asks as he draws flush with the kid.

Doe, for his part, doesn’t flinch at all. Doesn’t twitch, or even open his eyes. His lips move and his voice seems disconnected from that movement as he says, ‘That’s between a man and God, Roman.’

Roman fidgets, looking around the empty room. He’s never been very comfortable in places of worship. Didn’t enjoy mass when he was young and elects not to participate now even when it would be one of the only things to do in this hellhole. 

‘God, you’re serious,’ he says after a long suffering moment of utter silence. Something he hasn’t experienced once since he was sentenced to 40 years with a possibility of parole in 20. ‘You going for some kind of Azrael schtick?’

Now, Hood moves. His head bobs gently, and his lips twitch up at the corners. ‘Azrael is an infant. All he knows is scripture,’ The kid tells him.

‘You know the guy?’ Roman asks around another sip of coffee.

But the kid just sits back on the pew and squints at him, ‘I know this is totally off topic but how to do you drink Coffee when you’ve hardly got any lips left?’ 

Roman regards the kid for a second. ‘You not gonna answer my question?’

‘I’ll answer it if you answer mine,’ Doe tells him. 

‘Practice,’ Roman says flatly, ‘Now your turn.’

‘I’ve met him a few times,’ the kid admits. ‘We have some of the same connections.’

Roman eyes him suspiciously. ‘Are you telling me there’s a whole cabal of you Catholic death hookers running around Gotham?’

‘No but that’s an incredible basis for a cult and I might just start it,’ Doe jokes, or Roman hopes he’s joking, as he stands up.

‘Getting murdered by the joker does some whacked out shit to your sense of humor, doesn’t it?’ 

Doe shrugs. 

There’s a certain type of air in chapels and cathedrals and all those nonsense places that feels still. Is like death. Roman knows that kind of air well because it’s the same kind of air that fills the space within his family tomb. And something he knows about it is that nothing of this world can truly move that kind of air. But Hood stirs the room as he moves through it, pulls gusts along the isle as he squeezes out of the pews.

‘I wanted to show you something,’ Hood calls back to him as he steps up casually past the gate separating the altar from the room and beacons Roman to follow.

Roman hesitates. He wasn’t one of those kid’s growing up. Wayne and Elliot had been altar boys but Roman had never, not once in his life, stepped past that fancy little fence. He didn’t even know what it was called, and he didn’t much care, he just knew that he was not the kind of animal that existed beyond that barrier. 

‘You want me to burst into flames or something?’ He asks.

Doe just opens up and laughs at him. That full bellied, mocking laugh Roman can remember from his Robin days only deeper and meaner.

‘Come the fuck over here,’ he says.

Reluctantly, Roman listens. This altar isn’t nearly as ornate as any he’s used to. It’s simple. Almost brutalistic. The only figures in it’s entirety being suspended above them in the panes of the window or on the single crucifix. But the candles are ever present in rows, burning together hot enough to send a Smokey stack up into the vaulted ceiling. 

Hood reaches up and takes one as Roman stops behind him. 

‘You do symbolism, right Roman?’ The kid asks, turning with the candle held in both hands almost tenderly.

‘Well, Yeah,’ Roman says, shrugging. 

A nearly translucent rivulet of wax runs over Doe’s fingers, but he doesn’t seem to notice. ‘Then kneel for me,’ He says.

Roman glares at him. ‘If you’re trying to get me to suck you off it’s n-‘ but before he can finish what he’s saying the kid kicks him in the side of his knee, and he hits the floor hands first. ‘Fuck you!’ He finishes.

It hits the back of his head, straight to his hyper sensitive scalp, the parts where the nerve endings failed to burn dead and were instead left exposed. And at first he can’t even understand what it is. Not until it crests the round of his skull and drips, whitening, onto the hard, gray, carpet. 

‘Wax?’ He demands, knowing he should have seen that coming. It burns as it cools on his skin, and pulls it taught. Nervously he tries to put a hand up but Doe catches it.

‘You’re a liar, Roman,’ Hood tells him. ‘We had an agreement.’

‘We fulfilled the agreement,’ Roman argues. ‘I paid you for everything you did.’

‘Oh, come on, Roman. You know that’s not how this works,’ Hood tells him. 

The second stream of wax hits the back of Roman’s head and doesn’t stop. He can’t believe the candle is able to burn that fast but the wax keeps coming. 

‘This is in-Christian. I thought you said you were religious,’ He tries. 

Hood smirks at him. ‘The more you snark at me the worse this is gonna be for you.’

There’s a moment of silence. That deadened kind, the total kind you can only really find in a place like this. Roman stares down at the drops of wax on the carpet and can’t really believe what’s happening until Hood uses a foot to push him up onto his knees properly.

‘It’s time you learned your place, Sionis,’ Doe tells him.

Roman tries not to loose face. ‘Yeah?’ He asks, ‘and where’s that?’

‘Beneath me,’ Doe tells him.

And then the wax spills hot out over Roman’s forehead and he can’t maintain as much of his face as he’d like. He winces, swears a blue streak. 

‘Like all the rest of you dirtbags,’ Doe continues. ‘In the fucking filth. Groveling at my feet.’

Roman can’t stop himself from opening his mouth to give the kid more lip, but before he can argue, another splash hits him in the eyebrow, drips down into his eye socket and starts to seal his eye shut,

‘Jesus- Fucking!- Christ,’ he swears instead. 

Hood makes a sound of amusement that’s most similar to a teenager seeing a cute puppy pathetically attempt to climb down a set of stairs. Roman couldn’t feel less aroused. There’s a certain growing coldness in the pit of his stomach that reminds him of being forced to play friends with kids he hated as a child. 

‘You know, the fact that your nose is mostly gone makes this more dangerous for you,’ Hood tells him.

‘Yeah and how’s that?’ Roman asks.

Hood slips a hand under his chin almost gently, turning his face up. ‘I could seal up your airways,’ he says.

The next bits of wax drip fat and heavy onto Roman’s mouth, slipping between the gaps in his lips onto his teeth. And he tries to swear again, but Doe holds his jaw shut with a free hand. 

‘I’m gonna keep you from ever lying to anyone again, Romeo,’ Hood promises him.

Roman is frantic as he beats the kid’s hands away from his face, and smears the hot wax off what’s left of his fave. ‘Okay! Okay!’ He says once he’s gotten the shit off his tongue. ‘I’ll pay you! You’ll get your fucking money! No more games!’

‘Good boy,’ Hood croons. ‘Isn’t that better?’

Roman has to literally bite his tongue to keep himself from mouthing off in response. 

‘What’s your sentence anyway?’ He asks instead.

‘I got life,’ Hood says.

This is shaping up to be a great looking 20 to 40 years, Roman thinks. Absolutely superb.


	4. Key Is To Soda Can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to pack another session into this chapter but Roman was too much of an asshole.

‘So why’d you set up this meeting?’

Roman rolls the little amount of lip he has together, and drums his fingers on his knee. ‘Like I said on the phone. I wanna stage a break out.’

‘You know that’s not really how I do business,’ the man across the table tells him, shoulders squared and arms bulging from the tension in them to the point Roman knows he wants nothing better than to destroy everyone in this dump. 

‘I understand that,’ Roman says. ‘But honestly, after he’s out of this prison, I don’t really care what the fuck you do with him. You just have to be able to do it.’

‘So what are we doing here?’ Lock-up asks him.

‘Your general shit. Kidnapping mostly. I just want this asshole out of here. Don’t care where he goes after that one bit. Keep him for all I give a shit. You might enjoy it. He sucks mean dick,’ Roman explains.

Lock-up draws a long, sneering breath in through his nose.

‘And you’ll have the money in your account of course. Half now, half on completion of service,’ Roman continues.

The man nods. Regards the room at large, the guards against the walls, the smattering of inmates and visitors speaking in low tones over plastic tables.

‘Your arrangement is,’ he stars, then pauses, looking back at Roman as if utterly disappointed, ‘Agreeable.’ 

‘So you’ll take the job?’ Roman asks.

‘Yes but only because of this suspected relation he has to Batman,’ Lock-up admits.

Roman nods. He’s not very surprised by this. Most of the super villain types out this way were on the same sauce. Bat sauce. Obsessed with catching the irritation of the Batman one more time. 

A fact which unfortunately lumps Roman in more with the Penguin types than the real badasses, but at least he isn’t a complete moron 24/7.

‘Well,’ Roman tells him, ‘It’s been great talking to you, getting to know you some and all that. I’m sure we’ll have an equitable business relationship. Here’s the number for my financial advisor. Her name’s Shirley. Real piece of work but she knows her way around a number like nothing. Give her a call when you’re done here and she’ll get everything sorted. I’ve told her 30 large in the first installment 60 in the second. She’ll take care of you.’

Lock-up nods, and tucks the business card into his the chest pocket of his jacket. There’s a awkward moment. They both look everywhere but at one another. Then Roman drums his hands on the table quickly, and walks out of the room.

Goddamn visitation. Always such a weird interaction.

Gen pop has a sort of teeming peace to it. People milling about nervously on the yard or stuffing themselves up in smaller recreation rooms. Out of habit, Roman walks past the usual hang out spot his connections use, and catches them all gathered around Hood at the table.

‘I don’t know anything about that,’ he’s saying, innocently.

The look on Dury’s Face is utterly crestfallen. ‘What do you mean “I don’t know anything about that?” Come on man!’

‘What’s to know?’ Hood asks, ‘He’s just a guy in a bat suit.’

‘But he’s a guy in a bat suit you have beef with. Like the personal kind,’ Dury insists. 

Hood shrugs. ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘What’s your beef then? John asks.

Hood thumbs his nose, mouth pulled into a considering grimace. ‘Same as anyone I guess. I just really hate pedophiles.’

There’s an explosion of noise at the table. Voices scramble over voices and everyone talks at once.

Roman cuts in as the objections become demanding. 

‘Last time we talked about this,’ he says, ‘it was all dirty talk about how the bat fucks. And you spoke from personal experience.’

Hood’s head whirls around, and the boy pins him with a wide eyed look, nostril’s flared. He’s angry but not in a way to glare at a man. It’s that true kind of anger only a rabid animal feels. Roman instantly remembers why he’s attracted to him with an intensity that’s almost bold enough to make him regret the steps he’s taking. But not quite. 

‘Last time we spoke at all, you were crying about how I won’t let you punch my nose in,’ Hood says, but it’s a comeback that lacks the usual bite.

‘Come on,’ Roman insists, joining the table. ‘Tell us all a story. Tell us all how Batman likes to fuck Robin.’

Hood just stares at him. That same angry look. Like he’s feral and smells a threat. The others urge the kid onward but he isn’t budging. His face is almost marble-ine in quality, features set firm one on top of the other like a jigsaw puzzle. His eyes never leave Roman.

‘What was it like?’ he asks after a moment of tense stillness, ‘being compared to Bruce Wayne every waking moment of your life?’

Roman levels the kid with a flat look. ‘Annoying. What was it like being compared to Nightwing?’

Which is of course how the fight starts. In an instant, before Roman, or anyone else at the table really knows what’s going on Doe lashes out. He grabs the Dr Pibb can sitting in front of Julian and rips it in half like a light edition of the yellow pages. Soda sprays everywhere through the excitement, blurring the lines of vision and he launches out of his chair and brings Roman down onto the rec room floor. 

Roman shouts as sharp aluminum goes through his uniform shirt first and then into his shoulder. 

‘Jesus Christ get him off me!’ Roman demands as the shit truly starts to hit the fan. 

But the kid isn’t stopping. He moves like he’s not quite sure what he’s doing anymore. On instinct. Something deeper engrained than anything Roman knows. The movements of a little tin soldier wound up and set down on a battlefield.

Someone is yelling. Julian is scrambling out of the way. And over the kid’s shoulder, as he tries to wrench the soda can back out of Roman’s flesh, he can see Dury watching in wide eyed wonderment like this is the best television special a moron could ask for on Saturday morning Cartoon Network. 

‘You’re a useless little cuck, Roman, and you always will be!’ he can hear Doe shouting down at him. 

And then the guards get there. They grab Hood around the neck and shoulders, but that’s not enough to stop the momentum Roman started with that smart Alec comment of his. One of them looses a chunk out of the side of his face as the kid decides his only weapons left are his teeth. 

Roman lies on the ground, watching as they wrestle Doe up onto his feet again. The fight gets too heavy at that point. One idiot guard stops to radio in for backup and the alarms start out over the loudspeakers. 

Roman manages to scramble out of the way just as Doe slams a guard down right where he had been, winding the guy. The kid doesn’t say anything, just keeps taking people down as they come at him. It’s kind of awe inspiring in that biblical Old Testament kind of way.

‘Look what you started,’ Julian chastises. 

‘Guess I hit a nerve,’ Roman admits, only just thinking to assess the damage done to his shoulder. It’s nasty, and jagged but not too deep despite the amount of blood on him.

‘And my Dr Pibb,’ Julian agrees. 

‘Yeah the damn doctors will be pulling scrap outta me for weeks,’ Roman gripes. ‘Can’t wait ‘till that kid bites it.’

‘And will he bite it?’ Julian asks.

Roman considers the maelstrom of chaos being unleashed in the red room, then shakes his head. ‘Don’t know that you can kill the dead, Jule. But you might be able to get rid of them.’

Eventually the incident is calmed down but not before they tranq the kid, which, at first, only serves to piss him off more. They watch as the effects kick in slowly, and the fight goes out with a soft sizzle. 

He’s still vaguely resisting as they drag him down onto a gurney. 

Roman doesn’t get attention until then, and he’s starting to feel a bit light headed. The stab wound just keeps bleeding so they take him to medical. Which he’s fine with until they sit him in a bed right next to Doe.

‘Hey, nurse,’ Roman gripes softly, worried that maybe Doe isn’t as tranqued out as he seems, ‘anyway I could get another bed?’

She pulls a frown. Leans in real close and says, ‘Honestly with the flu going around right now, no.’

‘Great,’ he tells her. ‘Thanks.’

They do end up having to fish bits of aluminum out of him. Which is shit to sit through because they’ve only got Novocain for a local anesthetic and he’s mildly allergic. Not enough to tell them not to use it, but enough that he gets a rash across his chest and swells up uncomfortably in his sinuses. 

‘You look like shit,’ Doe tells him dreamily as the nurse wheels her little tray of aluminum bits off down the isle between bed feet.

‘Peek yourself,’ Roman gripes.

The kid, for all the damage he’d done the general attendance, had scored himself a shining black eyes and stripes of bruising across his arms from where the guards hand smacked him up with those batons. 

‘Nah, I’m peachy,’ Hood assures him. ‘Feels like the best kinda morning after.’

It’s not a funny joke and neither of them laugh. Roman stares at Doe and Doe stares at the ceiling. Then he rattles the cuffs on his wrist and swears softly. 

‘Maybe it’s not the morning after, quite yet,’ he groans. 

‘They tranqued you. Twice. And you were only out like 40 minutes,’ Roman explains.

Hood scoffs. ‘Must being using the wrong kind of dope then.’

‘Must be,’ Roman agrees.

The quiet between them is punctuated by sniffles from the other beds.

‘Why’d they tranque me?’ Doe asks, quietly.

Roman takes the time to scoff then. ‘You tried to kill me with a can of Dr Pibb.’

‘Oh man,’ Hood says slowly, voice thick with amusement. ‘Now I remember,’ another pause before the ultimate conclusion. ‘You fucking deserved it.’

‘Maybe,’ Roman admits.

‘So,’ Doe continues, cuffs rattling again on his bed rail. ‘You gonna apologize?’

The indigence rolls up in Roman’s chest and erupts under his clavicle. ‘You tried to kill me with a fucking soda can, and you want me? To apologize to you?’ 

The kid nods at him. ‘That’s about it,’ he agrees.

Roman splutters in his frustration. ‘How in fuck’s name do you figure?’ He demands.

Hood shrugs, doesn’t even bother looking over at him and clearly isn’t joking this time when he says, ‘I’m a survivor of childhood sexual assault and you tried to use that to make an ass out of me in public.’

The flat tone of his voice almost makes Roman feel bad for it.

‘You tried to murder me with alter candle wax over a missed payment you hadn’t delivered goods for,’ Roman argues.

‘That’s business,’ Doe says. ‘What you did was personal.’

Someone coughs in a bed down the hall as they lapse back into saying nothing at all. They sit there, quietly hating one another for a long moment before Roman finally opens his mouth and forces out a begrudging, ‘sorry.’

And then they don’t speak for hours. 

At some point a nurse comes around and hooks Roman up with an IV of some mild pain killers. Then asks Doe if he’s feeling calmer.

‘Yeah, I’m chilled out,’ he says. ‘Sorry about all the trouble. You think you could get these cuffs off me?’

The nurse gives him a sad little headshake. ‘Not until the doctor does his round before bed check,’ she says.

Hood grumbles as she walks away.

‘Can I leave a yelp review of the bedside manner in this place?’ He asks.

‘If your cellphone gets enough bars for it when they take you back down to your quiet, personal room in solitary,’ Roman says.

The kid offers him a dry chuckle. ‘With as much bullshit as I’m putting them through, I’m pretty sure I’m about to be transferred to Close Confinement instead.’

Roman isn’t quite sympathetic. If Hood had been put into CC sooner, there’d have been less bullshit for him to wade through in his current prison experience. 

‘I hear that place is a living hell,’ He says after another quiet passes over them.

‘Well then I’ll finally get to compare living hell to dead hell,’ Hood says.

Once again, Roman can’t tell if he’s joking.

When the doctor comes by, he orders Hood another round of downers almost spitefully. Roman watches dispassionately as the staff wrestles his arms still and force him to accept medication. Even with the kid tied up it takes four nurses and the doctor to get anywhere which is astounding. 

Then he comes moves on to Roman’s bed, checks under his dressings. ‘This’ll need stitches in the morning,’ he tells a nurse. ‘The chart said there was a nick to an artery, so I want you to keep him after his procedure at least a day, make sure he doesn’t open himself back up getting in any more fights.’

‘Look,’ Roman says as the nurse scribbles something on his chart, ‘I don’t go an make a habit of trying to get shanked with fucking soda cans.’

The doctor gives him the cold shoulder and moves along to the next bed,leaving Roman so miffed he actually turns to Doe to bitch about it only to find the kid totally out.

He looks even younger like that, face softened up. This must be the first time Roman’s ever seen him completely off guard. Drugged to helplessness. Sunlight filters through the window, down into the graying roots of his bangs. 

Roman squints at that for a moment before dismissing it. 

It’s kind of hot. Not the gray hair thing but the helplessness. The black eye is just icing on the cake. It would be so easy to overpower him like this. Too easy, Roman knows, but it’s tempting anyway. If the ward was less full he probably wouldn’t be thinking about this right now so much as just doing it. But apparently when the old guys get a case of the sniffles it’s kind of a deal or whatever so Roman has to keep any somnophilic rape fantasies in his head.

Slowly, people trickle out of their beds as the day winds down and they’re discharged.

It takes Hood a few hours to start waking up and by then the sun is firmly down. Lights are out and medical is a sealed floor. Roman has to squint through the dark to try and see if the sound of cuffs rattling on the bed is actually him waking or just him moving in his sleep.

There’s a lot of panting. The cuffs scape back and forth on the railing like he’s pulling on them. And then Roman hears it, soft and terrified under the gentle commotion, ‘Bruce?’

He’s trying to figure out who Bruce is when there’s an answer.

A deep voice, one Roman recognizes says, ‘No.’

Hood stops moving, goes quiet. ‘Bane?’ 

‘No,’ the voice says again. And Roman sees a huge figure, move through the faint light cast down by the high windows.

‘Don’t touch me,’ Doe says. His voice sounds different now. Young and scared. Like some kid menaced in his bed by a bogeyman. 

Roman knows what’s happening, knows he’s the one who set it up and that this is what he wants, but the guilt is real this time.

The rattling starts up again. 

‘No,’ the kid groans, still too drugged to fight back. ‘I’ll fucking kill you.’

‘Shh,’ Lock-up hisses. 

Roman watches in awe as the figure looms down over the bed. The metal scrapes a few more times and then goes quiet.

When he picks Doe up it makes him look like a child. Tiny and clawing, the whites of his eyes glinting. 

Roman feels his dick go rigid. Cock right at attention in it’s front row seat.

Doe is definitely having a flashback. That’s plain to see by the look on his fucking face. The way it stretches at his swollen eye and the corners of his lips. 

‘Lemme go,’ Hood insists, quietly. 

Roman can hear him panting again. Pinned like a frightened rabbit against Lock-up’s chest as the man steps back from the bed.

There’s only enough light from the flooders outside for Roman to see the white of Doe’s wristband snake out toward the shining metal tower of his IV and then up.

Lock-up swears. ‘Did you just stab me?’ Roman hears in the quiet. ‘What did you stab me w-‘

There’s a thump and a hiss. Then Hood’s feet hit the floor in a splay and the kid spills into Roman’s bed. Roman grunts as the momentum slams him into the floor. 

‘Goddammit,’ Lock-up says as a light clicks on at the end of the hall in the nurse’s station. By the time the flashlight is aimed down the hall at them, the man is gone.

The few folks left are stirring in their sleep.

‘Sionis, Doe,’ the nurse says sternly as she comes up flush with the foot of Roman’s bed. ‘Fighting again.’

‘Motherfucker ambushed me,’ Doe mumbles. 

‘I didn’t do shit. You suddenly tackled me,’ Roman retorts.

Someone from another bed calls for them all to shut up.

‘How did you even get out?’ The nurse asks as she hauls Hood up to his feet.

‘Motherfucker ambushed me,’ the kid insists, eyes wide. ‘Fuckin’ picked me up to- where’d he go?’

‘Alright,’ the nurse tells him. ‘I’m gonna increase your dosage, and see if we can’t get you transferred to psych.’

Things get quiet again after that.

Eventually, Roman even manages to sleep.

When he wakes up the next morning, the bed next to him is empty, and the cuffs are hanging useless from the railing of the bed. Obviously Lock-up had been too interested in Roman’s offered goods to wait. Overall a pleasurably short turn around time.

By lunch, Doe still hasn’t been found and they’re calling it a jail break. 

Roman sits back in his bed and revels in it. The clean reality of prison free of The Red Hood.

He’s won. Hood May have gotten Gotham, but Roman gets Blackgate. 

He’s discharged from medical the following evening. The guys gawk at him over dinner. Everything’s back to how it should be and he doesn’t hear about any of it again.


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will be rereading and reediting in a few days. Happy Shitscram.

The phone line hums in Roman’s ear as the other end picks up. 

‘Just wanted to thank you for a job well done,’ he says to the silence, ‘and to say I hope you enjoy your bonus.’

‘Of course,’ Lock-up says shortly. ‘It’s been a pleasure.’ Then the line goes dead.

-

‘Sionis!’ One of the guard’s calls. He’s a guy named Macavee and Roman’s vaguely familiar.

‘Yeah?’ Roman asks. 

‘Visitor.’

Odd, he thinks as he gets up and follows the man. He isn’t the kind that usually gets visitors. He thinks about it as he’s walked casually into the meet and greet room. Who on earth would go through the trouble?

And then he sees the kid sitting there, baseball cap pulled low over his sunglasses. A Hood on top to cap it all off. A red one.

This is more than baller. Walking into a prison you supposedly busted out of to visit another inmate. And over a petty grudge too. Obviously the kid is confident in this move.

Roman sits down across the table from him and stares blankly into mirrored lenses. 

‘Hi, bud,’ Hood says.

‘Long time no see,’ Roman agrees.

‘Yeah,’ the kid says, voice low and suggestive. ‘Few months.’

The boot presses into Roman’s crotch just hard enough to almost hurt. 

‘Last I heard, you still owed me some money.’


End file.
